Away From Home
by BluePard
Summary: Bart struggles to be what others want of him while also being himself. In the process, he searches for his old mentor, Max Mercury. Written early 2006, this story was my attempt to reconcile the Teen Titans personalities with Young Justice.
1. Chapter 1

Bart wasn't sure what made this day so bad. It was just like the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that. Maybe _that_ was what made it so bad. He just knew that he had spent the first half of the day going out of his mind, imagining all the things he could be doing. He checked the bathroom and, finding it empty, raced around in agitation. Kon would have just left. He would have accepted detention with his usual flippant, "the Revenge of the People with No Clue" look. Tim would have had more patience or found some way to keep himself entertained.

Bart couldn't leave without being a Disappointment. And his imagination was currently strangling his patience for fun.

His mind went through thousands of options while simultaneously wondering what sort of gross stuff his body was picking up from this place. Even the air would be filled with the remains of the toilets throwing up--

Sitting on his wit's end was the idea. It was a last resort idea, such a last resort it never occurred to him, even in battle. He never had time to reach the end of his rope in battle. But he must have been slowly losing his mind for months, because he not only thought it, he did it, with an impulsiveness he usually restrained.

"Boss!" said the scout, grinning from ear to translucent ear.

Bart stared in horror while the scout preened. He was never, ever going to do that again. He'd just made a horrible mistake, and here it was in front of him, checking itself out in the mirror.

But, possessed by something slower and stupider than himself, he pointed outside.

"Don't do anything dangerous and don't be seen."

He stared some more as the scout saluted and zipped away. He did not just do that.

He managed to keep telling himself that for a full minute before he erupted in panic.

By the end of the day, he was at his other wit's end, at the complete opposite end of his wit. He had spent the last few hours--subjective weeks--waiting for Death's hands on him, waiting for his flesh to burn from his body again. Every time he managed to calm himself down his mind would flash to the feel of his death.

He fled the school as the bell rang--no one paid him any mind anyway--and met his scout outside, vowing to never do that again.

But when the scout returned to him, that all just _disappeared_. He had spent the day reading newspapers from all over the world, as Max used to, checking in--unseen--on people he was lucky to see once a month, cataloguing events all over the world. His school day was still there, sure, somewhere. But it was just part of The Day, which, whether a bit better or a bit worse, he had been living since he moved here. What he would remember was that Greta had a new haircut, and Cissie had a new boyfriend, and Carol still had a picture of him on her wall.

The next day, he did it again. He cautioned the scout--who rolled his eyes--against every danger he'd conceived during the long yesterday. No Smallville or Gotham--Kon had superspeed and Batman might as well have. Nothing more dangerous than a pulling cats from trees, and leopards didn't count.

The day was long. He got enough odd looks even when he didn't have a high-speed full-body tic. Now, Bart's teachers were convinced he was on drugs. He'd broken a couple desks with his vibrating, and security searched him for a wrench. Phone calls were made. No matter, he slipped to the bathroom between classes, and it all disappeared. No matter how trivial the news the scout returned, it was as though Bart were living his life, instead of sitting through it. Despite spending the entire day in a frenzy of worry, he returned home looking so satisfied that Jay decided that whatever had been bothering was already over.

The next day, he sent the scout to search through time. He'd searched everywhere for Max's body and hadn't found it, but speedsters could be every_when_ as well.

A few days more, and Bart unplugged the phone, taught himself forgery and wrote himself a sick note. Sure, they thought he was a delinquent, but he also never got sick and was probably due. Jay would understand, it was just explaining how he knew he had to go home that was hard.

It was almost a sort of vacation, once he got over his grief. No mom and no XS. But they were probably in another reality somewhere--he was the proof--so he'd just have to find them again, that's all. He set aside his scouts and helped the Legion the old fashioned way. A temporary ring, a few adventures, hoards of admirers falling over themselves and calling him The Flash. Even this world's Brainy seemed to like him better than the old one, if only because the library had made explanations quicker. Bart idly debated the Legionnaire's purpose with him sometimes, and tried to convince him that a leader needed more than just a brilliant mind. But he knew Brainy wasn't really debating, just explaining, and would not be convinced.

The Legion said they would be happy to keep him, paradoxes be damned, but Bart wasn't ready to pull a Superboy just yet. After all, he had three people to find now.

He returned on the day he had left, and when Jay questioned him (at Bart's school, delinquents were never sick,) he said he was out looking for Max. Which was true, even if it made Jay look at him sadly and clasp his shoulder and call him "son."

Three weeks later, and he had scouts out at most times, even on weekends. It helped that it was normal for Bart to appear in several places at once. He brought them back to him before charging into battle--the others didn't seem to notice the delay--so his mind would be clear and the scouts would be safe. Still, he couldn't set aside the thought, even then, that he'd forgotten one. That some part of him was missing, running who-knew-where and possibly headed for danger.

Three months later, and he was in a coma again.

Jay Garrick was sure most people's retirements weren't like this. He had thought of retirement as, well, a sort of vacation from his life. A declaration that your worries were over, your job was done, and now you were going to have a well-earned rest and enjoy the end of your years. He should have known better.

He got the call far too late, because the school thought Bart was a normal boy and also that he was on drugs. They'd called in an ambulance and pumped his stomach and wondered if it was a suicide attempt, and that was _hours_ ago. Only _now_, as the doctors gave him a long list of exactly what wasn't wrong with him, did Jay get to see and know immediately what it was. He'd been there the first time, and few things made a speedster this still.

Jay convinced them to allow Bart to be moved based on conviction alone. Being an old hand at superheroing gave him the right look and the right voice to get people to do what he said _right away_. Soon and ages later, Wally was literally wearing a path in Jay's carpet while J'onn examined the boy.

"He's not supposed to have scouts anymore," Wally protested for about the billionth time.

J'onn winced. The two Flashes stilled to stare at him.

"Someone's snapped his neck," said J'onn, kneading the bridge of his nose, "His scout's neck."

Jay tried to calm himself while Wally turned away, his arms raised in frustration at the world in general and this boy in particular.

"There is an additional problem," said J'onn in that mind-breakingly slow and deliberate way of his. "The person who attacked him appears ..."

Wally turned back, "For God's sake, J'onn--"

"...appears to be Max."

This time there was no protest to continue.

"_Max_?" Wally said, "Max _Mercury_?"

Max Mercury but not Max Mercury. Rival was the one using Max's body now. Jay buried his head in his hands.

"I can't find out much else," said J'onn, "He's too focused on his death."

Wally didn't appear to be listening anymore. He had tightened up in that way that meant he had caught sight of his destination, and God help anyone between him and it.

"Where?" Wally turned back and glared at J'onn for his hesitation. "_Where is he, J'onn?_"

J'onn told him, and Wally was gone.

Wally had made a decision.

The thing about decisions was, they could not be changed. Choices, yes. But decisions were something you held onto, something you brought about. Once Wally dedicated himself, he was a bullet of pure will. He would not accept anything else. He had decided it, and it would be _done_.

When Bart woke up, Max would be there. Wally would make sure of it.


	2. Chapter 2

Many thanks to Amarin Rose for the beta.

--

Bart could feel someone ruffling his hair, which was odd, because he was dead. Maybe his soul hadn't left his body yet. From what he'd read, there might be a delay. He'd also read about auras, and how they were supposed to turn silver before a person died and fall upwards from the dead like reverse snow. He'd meant to ask one of the more mystical superheroes if that were true, but he never got the chance. He wished he could open his eyes and watch his soul go up, but that was probably impossible. Besides, speedsters went to the Speed Force, and their auras were gold.

The hand left his brow. He wondered if his body had been prepared yet; if he could figure out how to see, that might be fun to watch. Especially if they donated his organs--but they might not, since superheroes came back to life so often. Did that even matter?

He wondered if they'd expand his room at the Flash museum. Wasn't he supposed to _become_ the Flash? Maybe they'd gotten him confused with someone else.

The hand returned, brushing some stray hair from his eyes. The movement was so delicate, he almost missed it. His hair would just flop back anyway, a trait that he got from his mom. It was kind of good she was in another universe, now. He didn't want to see her cry. Just the idea made _him_ want to cry, and he sniffed and realized that he was breathing. He took a deeper breath, just to be sure.

He might not be dead. His neck was snapped, but he could just be paralyzed. 'Course, in that case they might as well haul out the VR tank and throw him back. He'd go insane if he couldn't run.

That was kind of sad, too, but at least he'd get to see Dox again. And he could check up on everyone every once in a while. No more school, either.

He was _definitely_ going to cry.

"Bart?"

His eyes finally opened from pure shock. It looked like him. But _he_'d also looked like him. But--

He hadn't looked all soft and worried like this.

"Max...?"

Max hugged him, and Bart found his arms still worked and hugged him back. Bart had never felt like a kid in his childhood, never cowered from thunder and run to his parents' bed in the night. But he felt like that now, his wet face buried in Max's shoulder. Max pet his head and wondered over how much he'd grown, and told him about everyone who'd come to see him. He said it'd be all right, he'd take care of everything.

Bart pulled his face back dry. He looked down, twiddling his thumbs in silence a moment.

"Max, about all that stuff you said when you were training me...?"

"Yes?"

Bart out peeked from under his bangs. "Could you repeat it? 'Cause I kinda wasn't listening."

Tim was going to get in trouble for this.

When they'd first gotten the news, his mind had raced back over the months, searching for signs. Bits and pieces clicked into place, one by one. By the time he'd returned to himself, Batman had already arranged the trip. Perhaps out of sympathy, perhaps out of concern for Robin's performance; he didn't really care which.

He had brought some games from the days when he'd had free time, all older than Bart, which meant he might not have played them. He learned over the weekend that Kon hadn't visited at all.

"Why not?" said Robin, after a brief inner debate.

"I had enough nightmares the first time!"

_And thanks to not going, you're feeling worried _and _guilty. _

Kon misread his expression.

"I have all these images of ... of dead Impulse in my head! Dead Impulse, getting roasted! Dead Imp at my feet, dead Imp in my arms..."

"He's not dead, Kon. Or Impulse." Robin watched him pace for a moment. "Is it worse if it's Kid Flash?"

Kon threw his arms up in exasperation and then buried his head in them. 'You don't get it,' said his body language. Robin was sure he did. Kon was just in his usual method of denial, brooding and anger by turns.

Not that Tim blamed him. He was busy blaming himself.

In any case, Bart was now awake and in Alabama, and so was Tim. _As_ Tim, which he could only hope Batman didn't find out about. He rang the door and steeled himself for the worst, wondering vaguely if he should have brought a housewarming present.

"Tim!" Bart beamed and ushered him in. He pointed out Kon on the couch, as though Tim didn't catalogue every room he walked into expecting to be quizzed on it later.

Kon cleared an empty box off of the seat, smiling with nervousness and relief. "Hey, the Bat let you come!"

Tim declined to comment and took a seat. He sniffed. "Cookies?"

"Bart ate them all, sorry," said Kon, gesturing to the box he'd moved. "I think that was Superman's rations for the month."

Tim's lip quirked at the idea of Superman hoarding cookies, but he turned instead to watch Bart unpack. He was moving at normal speed, which might just be Max's rules in effect. Every once in a while there would be a blue streak and a new box would appear.

"You're confined to the house?"

"Naw, I wanted to unpack," said Bart.

Tim added that to his mental Worrisome Things About Bart Lately file. After a moment, he added the extended silence to it as well.

Kon squirmed beside him as if a spotlight was in his eyes and Bart and Tim were playing Good and Bad Cop. "I'm sorry I didn't come."

"You didn't? There's a card from you," said Bart.

"There's what?"

Bart rummaged a moment, then produced it.

"Cassie's handwriting," said Tim.

"Aw, man." Kon put his hand through his hair. "I ... I'm sorry, Bart. I just. Y'know. I can't stand seeing you like that."

"It's okay."

"It's not okay! I should have come. I'm sorry, Bart."

"It's okay, I get it." He shook his head. "I don't mind."

"Maybe you should," said Tim.

They stared at him.

"Part of the reason people don't take you seriously is that you never seem affected by anything. I know that's not true, but if you don't show it, people will ..." Tim waved a hand. "Become careless."

Kon said, "Are you telling him to _milk_ it?"

"Maybe."

He was angry with Bart for running off by himself and getting in trouble. He was angry with himself for forgetting that that was what Bart did. And angry at Bart, again, because he couldn't be expected to keep up with him. Nobody could.

Tim stood. "I'm not telling you this."

"Hey," said Kon, "You can't say that now!"

"I am telling you." Tim glanced at the area where the blue streaks had been, and started to walk out. "But _I'm not telling you this_."

Kon followed him, and Bart was already there. Tim found a shadow to lean in, and thought for a moment.

"Have you seen Fight Club?"

"About a billion times," said Kon. Bart nodded.

"You know how they spliced in a few frames of the one man over the other?"

"Yeah, that spoiled the whole film," said Bart. He'd perched on a picnic table and was swinging his feet. "Way too obvious."

"To you. But most people didn't notice. Some did." Himself, obviously. "People's true expressions are like that. It takes an instant for people to fix their faces in a lie. Most people can't even see these expressions, let alone read them."

He checked again for listeners.

"Speedsters' expressions are so fleeting, only another speedster could read them. You get one who's a really good actor, and _not even Batman could catch him lying._"

Kon stood up straight. Bart stopped swinging his legs.

"Batman's going to _kill_ you." said Kon.

"That's why I didn't say it." Tim turned to Bart. "Do you understand? You have to be honest with us, Bart."

Bart thought about this a moment, then his legs started swinging again.

"Do you think Inertia could do that?"

Tim didn't answer. He'd already set up precautions in case he could.

Bart's image blurred, just slightly, in the way Tim had long ago learned meant he'd switched in and out of subjective time to think.

"No," said Bart, continuing before either of them could ask, "I'm not that sort of person. I don't want to be that sort of person.

"It's _nice_ that you guys worried about me. But I don't want to, y'know, make you worry. People already worry longer than I do without making it worse."

"They don't worry longer than you," said Tim, "subjectively."

Bart just shook his head.

"That stuff is way too battish for Bart," said Kon, waving his hand in front of his nose like he smelled guano.

Bart grinned, turning his head to the clouds, legs swinging again.

"I tried--" Here Tim caught that Bart had changed moods, although he was still smiling, "--to tell Max about how much I'd changed, but he kept wanting to-- to make sure I hadn't. He wants me to be the same person. To do some stuff different, but be mostly the same."

Bart's gaze shifted to his feet. Kon's mouth was hanging slightly open; he'd missed the shift.

"I kinda realized that he's proud of me. Well, he told me he's proud of me. But I kinda realized he always was. He told me before, too, but I guess I forgot.

"Anyway, I decided I'd make a list." Bart's mood had shifted again, and his eyes fixed to theirs. "I'll write down all the stuff I want to change and all the stuff I want to keep the same. Max is gonna help me."

"In other words," said Tim dryly, "You've figured out a way to trick Max into showering you with praise."

"And critique. It's win-win!" Bart laughed.

Even as he said it, Tim realized his own tone had shifted. "Are we allowed to add to that list?"

Bart stopped laughing.

"Why didn't you tell us, Bart?"

Kon eased out of his rigid, defensive posture, head swiveling towards Bart. He'd probably wanted to ask since he'd gotten here, but had been silenced by his guilt.

Bart's response was as quiet as Tim's question had been. "You'd have tried to stop me."

"Of course we would have!" Kon finally stepped in. "Look at what happened! Bart, you--"

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine." Kon's arms crossed. "You quit the team last time! You were ... afraid ..."

Tim wondered for a moment if Bart had any idea of how _wrong_ it'd been to see him like that. Any fear on Bart's face was simply disturbing.

Bart had rolled his eyes at Tim's fear the first time they'd met. They had prevented a nuclear holocaust, and Bart had waved it off as "his job." He was someone who lived in another world.

Emphasis on _was_.

"I can't stop using the scouts," said Bart, bringing Tim back to the present, "Max is back because of them. Sometime I'll need them to save somebody again. It's better if I just get used to it."

"You'll just keep getting hurt!"

"Yeah." Bart nodded. "So?"

Kon was clenching his hands like he wished Bart's neck were between them.

"We're _superheroes_," said Bart. "We get hurt."

Bart zipped off and returned with a piece of poster board. It had two columns, labeled "Change" and "Keep." Under "Keep" was written, "Saving people without caring what happens to me."

Kon stared at it a moment. "That's not fair."

"It is a bit late to claim the moral high ground," said Tim. He suspected that Bart hadn't thought about this at all before. Impulse wouldn't have, but that didn't tell him much.

A guilty glance downward and the words "Be honest with friends" appeared under "Change."

"You have to add it to your lists too, though," said Bart, with a suspicious look in Kon's direction.

Kon looked pained, and Bart appeared over his shoulder and ruffled his hair for a moment.

"Max wants me to stop, too," Bart admitted, "Before he thought about it, he promised to teach me how to talk to the Speed Force."

"Isn't that what started all this?" said Tim.

"Yeah, but--" Bart shook his head, frustrated. "Everyone's always telling me to step up and slow down, but you can't do both. I _am_ going to be the Flash. I need to know everything, and be able to do everything, and I can't be afraid."

Bart's face grew stubborn. He crossed his arms. "I _won't_ be afraid."

Kon hid his face in his hand, but seemed to know better than to protest. Tim kneaded the bridge of his nose.

"So you're saying the one thing that hasn't changed," said Tim, "Is that you're always going to make us worry?"

"I worry about you, too," said Bart, "You have your Bat issues and Kon has his clone issues and I ..."

Bart scratched his head.

"You're too nice for your own damn good," said Kon, gathering Bart into a headlock. "Who says I have clone issues?"

"Everyone."

Kon noogied him for that. Tim attempted the "This isn't over" Look, but Bart just stuck his tongue out in reply. Perhaps because he was Bart, perhaps because it was Bart-like and would reassure them.

Tim really wished he knew which.

"The 'Change' list is too loooong," said Bart.

"This was your idea," Max pointed out. "At least you won't be bored."

"It's all boring and hard stuff." They'd already been through all the Kid Flash issues. Max was as impressed or as unimpressed as ever--Bart really couldn't define it. He just knew that he could get away with whining without losing anything. Max was indulging him for the moment, leaving lectures for later. Otherwise, he'd have kicked him off the table by now.

"We could start a third list of everything you've accomplished," said Max, "I think you've forgotten how far you've come."

Bart gave this some thought. Just the things he'd done while Max was away--which was a lot. Max didn't seem to realize how much.

"Wally and I are getting along better," he said.

"That's good," said Max with what sounded suspiciously like relief, "That must have been hard."

"Yeah. I think we're kinda still in the middle of it, but it's better. He praised me." Bart juggled an apple as he remembered. "For trying."

Max raised an eyebrow.

"My knee got hurt again, and I wanted to keep going but he said I shouldn't."

"You shouldn't," Max said, "Runners have to take special care of their knees, and _especially_ in your case."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Bart waved him off with what remained of the apple. "I know that. One of the books I read said knees might as well be held together with hopes and prayers."

"You know that, but you don't act on it."

"We already listed that under 'Change,'" Bart pulled out the poster board and tapped the line.

"I think it's a different concern."

"Aww, now you're just making things up!"

Max shook his head. "Remember when you first got Dox, and you thought he was being lazy when he was hot? You did know that dogs pant to get rid of heat, but you forgot to apply it. That's what that line is for. Running on a bad knee is different. That's you purposefully ignoring what you know."

Bart hid behind the poster board, one finger pointing at "Saving people without caring what happens to me."

"Was it completely necessary for you to keep going?"

Bart's voice was muffled by cardboard. "Maybe?"

"Bart..." Max walked over and pulled down the poster board. "You have a duty to yourself as well. A duty to your friends and everyone who loves you. No one's going to think badly of you if you think of yourself sometimes."

"Yes, they will!" Bart's hands clenched on the edge of the table, the list sliding to the floor.

"Bart." Max hugged him, but Bart didn't hug back. He just buried his head, his whole body tense. Shutting him out.

He shouldn't have to shut out Max, though. Max'd probably forgive him, even if he was being emo and childish and stupid.

The words came out quiet and rapid and muffled; Bart wasn't even sure Max could understand. "Lilith and Donna died and everyone thinks it's my fault. It doesn't even matter that she came back, I ran in, and she died, and Cassie wouldn't hug me, and she didn't say so but I know she blames me--

"Everyone thinks I'm going to get them killed. Get someone they care about killed. They don't trust me. They don't talk to me-- No one likes me anymore."

"Your friends were here this afternoon," said Max quietly.

That stopped him for a moment, but Bart just shook his head.

"Kon didn't tell me about the whole Luthor thing. He should know I don't care, because he's my best friend and Mom's a Thawne. But he didn't tell me, so he must think I care, so I think he's forgotten, so I didn't even mention the whole Thawne thing because he might start thinking I'm evil too, but now I feel guilty because he's still weird about it even though we don't care, but I have to care because _he _cares, so I can't show I care because if I do he'll think that I've got evil genes or something."

Max petted Bart's head, probably translating this in his own.

"Being honest with your friends is on your list. And it's there because if it isn't, things like this happen. You have to risk yourself." Max shook his head, somewhere above him. "You never had troubles like this before because you were always honest before."

Bart looked up. At some point, he'd let go of the table and starting hugging back. He wasn't sure when. "You think so?"

"I'm sure of it. It was always impossible to not love you," Max's face wrinkled into a wry grin, "even when you were being incredibly frustrating."

Bart buried his head again.

"You can't keep these things inside, Bart."

"I can't tell anyone, either. Or, I couldn't once you left. I made a list. And I tried talking to Carol and Helen but then they worry and I don't want to make them worry, especially when I barely see them..."

Bart took a deep breath. "I really don't want to be an angsty teenager, Max."

"I'm not sure it's avoidable." Max hugged him tighter. "You've already grown up so much. Only a few more years?"

"That's forever, Max." Bart pulled back finally. He'd really missed hugs.

Max ruffled his hair. He'd missed that too.

"I'm not sure I can last that long, especially if everyone else is gonna be like this, too." Bart picked up the list off the floor. "What if I go back to school and Preston goes goth or something?"

"He'll still be Preston. But I know what you mean," said Max, taking the list from him and affixing it to the fridge. "I thought I'd come back to find you covered with piercings or tattoos."

Bart grinned. "I did get a tat, but my body ate it."

Max shook his head, and Bart just laughed.

"I just hope you've gotten that out of your system."

"I think so." Bart zipped over and did the dishes at high speed. He felt like being helpful _and_ annoying. "The emo, I mean. It's weird, I'm all lalala, then boom. Angst. For no reason. All that stuff I just said already sounds stupid."

"Hormones. It'll wear off." Max eyed the sparkling dishes as though not sure whether to be pleased or irritated. "Until then, you talk to me about what's bothering you, regardless of how stupid it seems."

Bart noticed later that Max had added that one to the list, too. He hadn't agreed to it, but wasn't about to argue. It was the only thing there that felt not just right, but easy.


End file.
